Pickles and Depredation: Another First Journey
by NuclearCookout
Summary: A Kalos native has finally mustered up the courage to seek a career as a Pokemon Trainer. His journey...doesn't begin as planned. A depraved Espurr, overzealous Team Rocket grunts, & several other factors seem to have it out for him. What gives? He only wanted fame & fortune...& some pickles. X/Y. Rated T for mild violence. Contains elements of Psycho-Pass, but isn't a crossover.


The soft chime of a supermarket entry bell sounded as Raozya left the building. A collection of grocery sacks were clutched firmly within his grasp, and his gait had a cheerful spring to it, complemented by the whistled tune escaping his lips. He spotted a bench nearby and planted his eager posterior upon it, browsing through the sacks with the zeal of a Luxray feasting on a fresh kill.

The Jolly Pirate's Supply Crate, a large retail chain that operated only in Kalos, frequently advertised its vast selection of groceries and Pokemon supplies. The CEO himself had even sworn on the grave of his mother that his store was top-notch and carried "just about everything," including military-grade vehicles and weapons.

Raozya was not disappointed with his decision to shop there, examining the glut of Poke Balls and other related supplies he had purchased. _Excellent_, he whispered in his mind. Nothing was going to escape his grasp. He was even considering capturing other Pokemon Trainers to use as slaves. He wasn't sure if that last part was feasible; he was new to the whole Pokemon Trainer thing, but even if it wasn't true, he could still entertain his cruel fantasies in his head. This made him utter a cold giggle.

He continued to dig through the sacks and spied a wrapped pickle, which he hastily peeled from its packaging and devoured like a savage who hadn't eaten in a week. There was nothing quite like the sour crunch of a fresh pickle to get him ready for a journey, and The Jolly Pirate's Supply Crate carried some of the best brands on the planet. There were more where that came from, as well as an assortment of other sour foods and a few bottles of lemonade. It was his fuel of choice—his culinary _modus operandi_. Life was incomplete without that which was sour.

One of the last items he pulled from his bag was an unusual device: a large, black stun gun with a small logo on the side that said "SIMBYL". The dealer had told him this particular model, the SIMBYL Domination, was the perfect defense against any would-be muggers that sometimes prowled the local routes. The price was rather steep, but Raozya took his word for it and considered it to be a wise investment. He didn't want to risk any of those Team Rocket idiots taking his stuff, and now they would get a proper jolt if they tried. Jerks.

Lastly, he excavated a new, red backpack from another bag and stuffed everything into it, save for a few Poke Balls to place on his belt, his Pokedex, and a belt holster for a bottle of lemonade. The Domination also had a holster of its own, but he preferred to keep both tucked away inside his backpack for safekeeping. There was no telling if the sight of it would scare off any Pokemon, and that was the last thing he needed.

Raozya donned his backpack and other accessories and stood proud, gazing across the adjacent Route 6 road toward a verdant pasture on the other side. There was change in the air. He was ready for another first journey.

It was "another first" in that his previous attempt at getting a foothold in life had dealt with a job at a sporting goods store—his first attempt at such a career. He had wanted to become the manager, and everything was going great until a customer brought in a Cyndaquil to try out some related gear for it. Apparently the fire beast didn't like him too much and went on an unprecedented rampage. What transpired was something of a mental blur; all he could remember was smoke and chalk outlines. Those memories left a bitter taste in Raozya's mouth.

He didn't like bitter. He liked sour. It was time for a new start. His goal: acquire the fame and fortune of being a world-class Pokemon Trainer. Perhaps then his associates would cease their relentless mockery of him. Perhaps then he could use them as indentured servants along with the Gym Leaders he planned to catch.

A cool breeze danced by, teasing his red ponytail and bringing him a sense of peace and anticipation. It also brought screaming. Frantic screaming. _Okay, WHAT?_

Something blurred past his vision. Raozya only caught a glimpse, but he could have sworn he saw a Pikachu riding on a boy's head as the latter flailed his arms and babbled incoherently, apparently running for dear life.

Another person was speeding behind them, struggling to keep up. The pursuant young girl's expression could not have been more horrified. "ASH, KEEP MOVING! THEY'RE GAINING ON US!"

She sped by like a human missile with a glittering cloud of tears for exhaust. Raozya tracked her with his eyes for a few moments before turning to see what was following them. Lo and behold, it was a pair of Team Rocket thugs, male and female, who were running fast enough that their tailwind was dragging small rocks. Their legs were invisible from the speed; only a swarm of feet could be seen. Raozya could make out several scorch marks on their white outfits, as well as what appeared to be lengths of toilet paper glued-on haphazardly.

"Team Rocket, blasting off at the speed of SPITE!" roared the red-headed female. Her long, voluminous hair, petrified into the shape of a rearward, down-curving tusk by untold quantities of styling gel, made it seem as though she was wearing a giant jalapeño as a hat. Raozya found this strangely unsettling.

The blue-haired male, comparatively more sane in his fashion sense, possessed a mixture of homicidal rage and soul-crushing sadness imbuing his face, as his tear-soaked scowl and fractured voice indicated, "I will BARBECUE that yellow rat of his! Giovanni won't even look at me now!"

Raozya was nearly blown over as they passed and was subsequently peppered with several high-velocity pebbles. Their hatred was almost tangible. Somebody was about to suffer.

_Aaaand that's not my problem_. He dislodged the pebbles and wiped the blood from the side of his head. He refused to be angry. He had other things to worry about. Better things. Since the circus of violence was heading straight for Parfum Palace—_Those poor saps..._—Raozya began his journey by going along Route 6 in the opposite direction. Next stop: the intersection with Route 7. He had heard that the gas station there sold excellent burritos. _I think there could be some Pokemon along the way, too. Hunting time!_

• • •

Ten minutes of walking brought Raozya to a section of the road that was flanked by fields of tall grass, rolling in the breeze like emerald ocean waves. He took a swig from his bottle of lemonade and looked across the adjacent fields in curiosity while indulging in the crisp breeze. A confident smirk appeared on his face—his hunter's instinct had been triggered. _Pokemon ahoy_.

He broke away from the road and began wading through vast quantities of chest-high grass; he figured a boat would have been appropriate for the occasion. According to a handbook he had picked up at the store, several different species claimed these fields as their home, including haunted swords...whatever they were called; he couldn't remember off the top of his head. Despite the dangers, his bold personality would not permit him to pass up the opportunity for a good hunt, and his gut told him there were plenty to be hunted in this particular field.

He continued his trek and eventually came upon a sparse grove of trees. He kept his eyes fixed on them for a few minutes before he caught a glimpse of some movement. A lone Sentret scampered out of the grass and up the side of a tree. This pleased Raozya. _First target acquired._

The starter Pokemon he had picked at the store was a brave-natured male Fennekin, which he had named Napalm. He had picked the Fennekin because, as he had stated to the store clerk, "Fire rules."

He carefully palmed Napalm's Poke Ball in preparation for a throw, but this plan was aborted when something else streaked out from the grass toward the Sentret and speared it to the tree. _Seriously? A haunted sword?_

Several other haunted swords, or Honedge as they were properly called, darted from the grass and attacked the hapless Sentret, quickly absorbing it until there was nothing left but a skeleton. Raozya had already made himself scarce by the time they had finished their meal; he had moved to a different grove while trying desperately not to shriek like a little girl.

_Nope nope nope NOPE_, he repeated madly in his head while hiding behind a huge oak tree. _I must've been near a hive or something. Gotta watch for that._

His pounding heart skipped a beat when he noticed the grass rustling nearby, close to another tree. He hoped to anything holy that it wasn't another one of those demon swords. Evisceration wasn't particularly high on his wish list.

A few tufts of gray fur ascended past the top of the grass, followed by a pair of circular purple eyes. They stared at Raozya with an unnerving vacancy that frightened him straight down to the bone. This fear, however, was overridden by his willpower to succeed in his quest. This wasn't a flaming sporting goods store. This was _destiny_.

Raozya hardened his expression and grabbed Napalm's Poke Ball from his belt. _Okay, so, chuck the ball and fight the target. Weaken it. Catch it. Simple enough. Victory will be mine._

He tossed the Ball with all the strength of a lethargic toddler. "G-go Napalm!"

The Fennekin materialized from the Ball in a brilliant flash, immediately taking on a confident battle stance and facing the grass-shrouded Pokemon with a sneer. Indeed, it was itching for a fight, having been cooped up inside its small spherical prison for a while, and its opponent looked like it could make for a satisfying punching bag...and possibly a meal.

The Sun disappeared. At least, that's what it seemed like—there was nothing but a dim glow to illuminate the contenders. The grass that separated the two Pokemon parted and flattened to the ground as though a hundred-pound weight had been dropped on it. The creature fully revealed itself: a gray, bipedal cat, no more than twelve inches tall, whose ears were pinned firmly to its head. It had no emotion in its expression, and yet Raozya sensed an underlying blood lust that belonged to an apex predator. It merely stared at Napalm, as if examining the creature's very soul.

At that point, Raozya was struggling to keep his bladder in check. What in the world WAS that thing? Was that a cat? If so, there was a very obvious...uncanny valley effect going on—it didn't look quite right. He forced a shivering hand to pluck his Pokedex from his belt and aimed it at the tiny beast that was most likely about to obliterate his Pokemon if it kept staring like that.

A small robotic voice called out, "Espurr, a feline psychic Pokemon. It has enough psychic energy within the glands in its ears to vaporize everything within 300 feet of itself, and it has no control over its power. Several nations have classified it as a living weapon of mass destruction. Approach with caution. Do not lift its ears under any circumstances."

Despite his bowels now threatening emergency voidance and his conscience screaming at him to run for the hills, Raozya pressed onward. This was his first battle. He had to taste victory. "N-N-Napalm, use Ember!"

Napalm didn't even have time to ready itself. The flattened grass uprooted and launched away from the battle area, exposing bare dirt that began to float freely in the air. The trees nearby, largely unseen due to the penetrating darkness, were now aflame with a deep purple fire. Unearthly black static discharges danced between branches, the ground, and other objects.

What appeared to be snow had begun falling from the sky, although Raozya's nose told him it was actually ash. The Espurr's eyes glowed with terrifying menace, its indifferent expression only amplifying the intimidation factor.

Napalm vanished.

_EHHHH?!_ Raozya frantically looked around himself without moving his feet—they were made of proverbial lead at that point—hoping Napalm hadn't vaporized or ended up as a corpse hanging from a tree. He rediscovered his Fennekin hiding within the cuff of one of his pant legs, quivering, clinging to his leg for dear life. His shoe was beginning to fill with the creature's tears. _I hope it's just tears. Please be tears and not the other fluid._

His Pokedex chimed in with a cheerful robotic voice, completely inappropriate for the situation, "Espurr used Soul Abyss! It's SUPER EFFECTIVE!"

The darkness disappeared as quickly as it had come. The trees, although bathed in a thin cloud of smoke, had been undamaged by the purple fire. The Espurr's eyes had returned to normal as well, but continued in their unsettling stare.

Raozya wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Was it real? Was he dreaming? Did he honestly just get his butt kicked by a _cat_? His expression switched from terror to indignation. "Hey! What was tha—"

"What are your goals?"

_It...spoke._ Raozya wasn't sure how to respond for the first few moments, but it didn't take him long to regain his composure. "I am an aspiring Pokemon Trainer by the name of Raozya! It is my goal to acquire fame and fortune and live among such people! I hope to—no, WILL, take my career to heights never before seen, crushing all who oppose me!"

Napalm, now in its right mind as well, scampered up Raozya's back and struck a confident pose atop his head.

"That's a stupid disguise. Take it off."

The Espurr's words were like a punch to the gut. No, more like a knife that had been heated in a furnace and dipped in an Arbok's venom. _You've...got to be kidding me._

"I'm not."

"Stop reading my thoughts! You...you know nothing about me!"

"I know that you are not human. My eyes are not easily fooled."

Raozya couldn't believe his ears. He had practiced for so long—tricked so many people! It was his trademark! Either his disguise was not quite as foolproof as he had once thought, or this was no ordinary Pokemon. The latter explanation seemed more appropriate.

He blew out a defeated sigh and switched his appearance, blurring from a human to his true form. His red ponytail was now a long, red mane that stretched to the ground. Gray fur replaced his dark skin and covered his lanky body, with a smaller, darker gray mane encircling his chest and shoulders. His head developed a pointed muzzle and ears that were distinctively vulpine. He was a Zoroark. "Happy now?"

"Fascinating. May I ask why?"

"I...well, you know, I wanted to fit in, make it big, not having to worry about a bunch of slobbering idiot children tossing Poke Balls at me every five seconds. You know, the high life."

"Fascinating."

That stare was starting to gnaw at Raozya's insides; and what was up with the vague, monotone answers? Was this cat thing mocking him? He blurted an answer before he could realize just how suicidal it was, "So, uh, how about a rematch? I need to fill my roster so I can exact my conquest." _WHY DID I SAY THAT?! WHYYYYYYYYY?!_

At this, Napalm shrieked and darted into his master's backpack. Raozya felt another wet spot forming on his back, and he was morbidly certain it wasn't a stream of tears this time.

"No need. I'm coming with you."

An awkward silence followed. A pin could have been dropped and heard a mile away. Raozya just stood there, dumbfounded at the Espurr's unexpected reply, and it took him a few moments to muster up the courage to speak. "Eh...what?"

"Your goals amuse me. I wish to see them transpire. This field bores me."

"Eh...what?" It still wasn't quite sinking into Raozya's skull. He was still struggling to grasp the fact that the cat was talking, let alone willing to go with him without a fight.

"I will be your Pokemon."

"Oh. Nice." All the while, Raozya's mind was sounding the alarm that death was imminent, although he decided it was merely paranoia...he hoped. Pesky survival instincts.

The Espurr approached his new master, setting the latter on edge. "Don't bother with a Poke Ball. It's an unnecessary procedure. Oh! I seem to have left my manners at my previous opponent's grave. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joas."

That statement didn't help Raozya's nerves at all. "Oh. Well, that saves me the trouble of naming y—"

"Where are we heading?"

"Um, ah, I was gonna catch some other Pokemon to fill my roster, then I was gonna head off to the convenience store on the intersection of Route 6 and 7 for a burrito, and then visit Camphrier Town after that."

"Camphrier Town? But it's a radioactive crater." Joas paused momentarily. "Oh! I'm sorry, that hasn't happened yet. Never mind."

Raozya had the strangest feeling that these nightmarish non sequiturs were going to be popping up a lot in their conversations. Hopefully the convenience store sold sleeping pills; he figured he would be needing them. "Yeah, so, uh, let's get on with the catching."

"After you."

The trio departed from the grove once Raozya had returned to his human appearance. With Joas' assistance, Raozya felt as though he had a much better chance at succeeding in his career. The flipside was the concern that his potential lifespan had been reduced dramatically. He looked forward to those sleeping pills.

• • •

Warm colors rimmed the sky as the Sun approached the horizon. By that time, Raozya's roster had been filled thanks to Joas' assistance, although about half of the potential catches had died of cardiac arrest before a Poke Ball could have even been thrown.

Although Joas' expression remained unchanged from its disturbing vacancy, he was pleased. In an odd switch from the norm, he felt slightly more satisfaction in assisting Raozya with a catch rather than plunging his opponents into a parallel dimension full of Cthulhu ripoffs...and that was saying a lot. "So then. You now have a Sentret, a Kecleon, a Honedge, an Audino..."

Raozya's stomach growled with impatience. "And an empty stomach!"

Joas paused for a moment. He considered chiding his new friend for the seemingly thoughtless interruption, but then his own stomach repeated the noise. "Ah yes, the convenience store is not too far off. I, too, desire nutrition."

"Yeah, we'll need something with more substance than the snacks in my backpack, and I'm almost out of pickles. I think I have..."—Raozya rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a single pickle that he promptly examined—"...one left. Huh, that was quick."

Joas didn't have the heart to tell Raozya of the real reason behind the pickle depletion, instead allowing the Zoroark to believe that he had eaten them without paying attention...those tasty, crunchy pickles. "Tragic. By the way, incoming."

"Eh?"

The pickle disappeared—a Fletchinder had swooped down from the sky and snatched it from Raozya's hand. The fire-themed bird soared off a short distance before it and its prize were eaten mid-flight by a leaping Sentret, which then burst into flames and exploded as its meal released a final fire attack.

Raozya went numb and slack-jawed for a few moments, allowing Joas to chime in, "It's like visual poetry. Do you enjoy poetry, Raozya?"

"Only the poetry of me stuffing my face with dinner."

"That sounds more like a barbarian's prose to me."

"Yes, very tasty barbarian prose, grilled to perfection and served with a side of honey mustard sauce and waffle fries."

Joas prepared to give a sharp retort, but the thunderstorm raging in his stomach changed his mind. "The convenience store it is, then."

They left the field and continued their journey on the road. Due to Raozya's comparatively massive stature of five-foot-six and the long step associated with it, Joas used his psychic abilities to float alongside him for the sake of keeping up, his tiny body wreathed in eerie purple energy. Raozya considered it a critical priority not to look into Joas' glowing eyes—he wasn't sure he would like what he saw within them, whether it be a nightmare dimension, the void of space, or a soul vacuum. He preferred to keep his soul where it was.

Several minutes of traveling proved to be strenuous on Joas, however. His hunger made it difficult to maintain a constant output of psychic energy, so he solved the issue by dropping onto Raozya's head. "Tired. Taking a ride."

This was akin to setting off a bomb. Raozya panicked, grabbed Joas, and chucked him into the ground hard enough to rattle the nearby trees. "DON'T TOUCH MY SOUL!"

_I should have seen that coming._ The bewildered Joas stood and dusted himself off, then directed his vacant stare at Raozya. "Why?"

Once he realized just what had occurred, Raozya's blood iced over. He had launched an eldritch abomination into the dirt. Life had been fun, but this was the end. "I...b-but you...my soul..."

Joas was once again wreathed in filaments of purple energy that danced across his fur. His eyes glowed with greater intensity than before as he floated up to eye level with his would-be Trainer. "You don't have enough of one to touch. Now let me use your head as a cushion. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I need a rest."

"Wh-why not my backpack? You might fall off otherwise." _I'm provoking it. I know I am._

"Sure. Why not."

Joas' eyes dimmed a bit as he floated over to Raozya's backpack, satisfied with the outcome of their conversation. He unzipped the top and lowered himself inside, wiggling around and finding himself remarkably cozy in short order. _Well this isn't so bad._

Raozya felt as though he had prevented a nuclear missile from lifting off. Perhaps he would get to see the age of twenty-three after all. He would probably celebrate with a double dose of extra-strength sleeping pills.

Before Joas could congratulate Raozya on possessing a functional brain, a shrieking yellow streak blasted out from deep within the backpack and thirty feet into the air. An instant later, Raozya's shirt featured a quivering, whimpering lump situated over his stomach. "Napalm? Get out of there! And grab a backbone while you're at it! You're supposed to be BRAVE-natured!"

With significant effort, Raozya managed to call Napalm back into its Poke Ball, although he figured the Fennekin would probably never want to come back out again. By that point, Joas had fallen asleep in his new perch, his soft snoring inspiring a smirk on Raozya's face as well as a feeling of relief.

Another thirty minutes of walking brought the Route 7 intersection within view, just in time for the Sun to touch the horizon. Raozya's heart leaped for joy when he spotted the convenience store and a few other shops—he could practically taste the comically oversized pickles, the lemon smoothies, the cholesterol-clogged bean and grease burritos, and the massive bags of vinegar potato chips. With these succulent delicacies occupying his belly, perhaps the sleeping pills could be avoided.

His leaping heart, however, nearly ruptured as two goons jumped in front of him from behind some trees that flanked the road. Their black uniforms, berets, and the large red 'R' on their shirts proclaimed their membership with the notorious band of thugs, Team Rocket. Judging by their expressions, which lacked full confidence, Raozya figured they were relatively new recruits.

"Team Rocket targets you at the speed of light..." began the male half of the team.

"...So give up your Pokemon or prepare to fight!" concluded the female.

_Yeah, I don't have time for these idiots._ Raozya decided to play along and raise his hands, faking a fearful expression. "Team Rocket?! Oh no! I'm finished!"

The male grunt gave a dark smirk. "Yeah, that's right! Hand over any Pokemon you have and we'll spare ya!"

The female, now more confident having seen their prey's submission, mimicked her partner's smirk. "Don't try anything funny! I've got a Chespin and I know how to use it!"

Raozya complied and cradled his backpack in front of his chest, acting as though he was rummaging around for Poke Balls. In reality, he was searching for his SIMBYL Domination stun gun, ever thankful that he had decided to purchase it. These two grunts were about to get the shock of their lives.

It was then that he noticed the lack of Joas' furry body; his blood iced over once again. With all the charm of a vengeful wraith, a glowing Joas ascended from behind Raozya's head and directed his disturbing gaze to the female, instantly robbing her of any confidence she had once possessed. "Ma'am, I must express my appreciation of the lovely flower in your hair. It reminds me of the mass graves I saw in the future. So many headstones festooned in a beautiful kaleidoscope of flowers, all as a result of so many lives having been cut short in such an inhumane manner."

Joas' voice, sporting a background of several other voices spanning multiple octaves, succeeded in making the female go pale. Mouth agape, she felt as though she was staring into the face of death itself.

The male, however, was unfazed. "Don't let yourself be tricked, Tiffany! It's playing mind games! Send out your Chespin!"

It was no use. She couldn't move, frozen in place like a marble statue and shaking with terror.

Raozya took that opportunity to whip out the Domination, training it on the male's chest. Before he could issue a warning, the gun projected a holographic heads-up display onto Raozya's eyes. Targeting reticles locked onto the thug's chest, and a counter that sat right-of-center displayed the number 390—this indicated a high criminal potential in the target. Inaudible to anyone besides Raozya, an electronic female voice said, "Welcome, Trainer Raozya. Target's Threat Judgment has been assessed. Enforcement mode is Lethal Eliminator."

Multiple metal plates pulled away from the front of the weapon, exposing regions of intricate luminescent electronics as it transformed into a jagged and much more menacing hand cannon. The male grunt was visibly taken aback by this, shifting one of his feet in reverse.

_Lethal Eliminator? Must be one of those comical mode titles._ "All right, kiddo. You don't want the power of a thousand Pikachus surging through your scrawny little body, so why don't you and your girlfriend get lost?"

Any fear that had been present in the male grunt's face immediately disappeared. "Pikachu? Ha! I've been shocked a thousand times by those little rats! My superiors have prepared me well!" He plucked a Poke Ball from his belt and prepared for a toss. "Froakie, go!"

Raozya squeezed the trigger. A burst of pure, blinding energy launched from the slit-like barrel of the Domination and collided with the grunt's chest, converting him into a rapidly expanding cloud of incandescent red mist and bone granules.

It took a few moments for Raozya and the remaining grunt to return to their senses. Joas lingered in his shock a little longer, savoring the euphoria that was coursing through his veins. When the smoke had cleared, all that remained of the vanquished grunt was a crater, a few Poke Ball fragments, and a smoldering boot.

The other boot landed on the female grunt's head a few seconds later, having returned from a trip to the stratosphere. At this, her limit was realized, and she took off into the adjacent forest screaming like a rabid banshee.

This was simply too much for Joas to take in all at once. His mouth curled into a rare smile, and he floated around to face Raozya. "The shoe was the cherry on the proverbial cake. Thank you for the entertainment."

Raozya felt as though he should have received the Medusa effect from the sheer macabre that Joas' expression conveyed; he could have sworn he had just heard a million disembodied screams coming from the sky. "I just...vaporized someone with a stun gun."

"The world is cruel. You'll get used to it. Now, shall we be off to gather food?"

_HOW CAN HE BE SO CASUAL ABOUT THIS?_ "I...yeah."

By no means was Raozya disappointed that his foe had been transformed into meat dust; he had simply been startled by the unexpected action. He decided it would be a good idea to read the owner's manual when they settled down for the night. Reducing dangerous enemies to a fine mist was a valuable ability, but he wanted to know what else his gun could do.

Raozya snapped a picture of the aftermath with his phone's camera at Joas' behest. Once he had uploaded it to his Internet blog after further goading by his companion, they resumed their journey to the intersection. Their activity, however, had not gone unnoticed.

Shrouded in the evening shadows, two sets of eyes followed the duo as they went along. The hidden individuals, clad in red business suits, had been taking detailed notes.

"An intriguing specimen."

"Indeed, bizarre and talented..."

"...And extremely dangerous."

"Premature engagement would be..."

"...Unwise."

"Yes. The gun may pose an obstacle, but the Espurr..."

"...Is what we have been searching for."

"Proceed with data transfer. The boss will be pleased with our findings."

• • •

The lights that clung to the underside of the gas station's forecourt roof flickered and buzzed before finally staying lit. Just like the bugs that were being drawn to the lights, Raozya and Joas approached the entrance of the convenience store. However, they were stopped by a single word that acted as a figurative bug-zapper:

CLOSED.

Raozya's heart sank into his feet. "Aren't these places supposed to be open at this hour?"

"If they are, somebody failed to carry out their duties." Joas walked ahead and pressed his face against the glass door, scanning the multiplicity of colorful products on the shelves. "Dark as a tomb."

"Sorry, kid, but this place is closed for the weekend."

_STRANGER DANGER_. Raozya threw himself forward and spun around in mid-air, making a three-point landing and readying himself for combat, eyes locked on his new target. The shock had almost made him drop his disguise. "ATTACKER."

The newcomer, a graying, bearded man in his late fifties, recoiled and waved his hands. "No no! I mean you no harm! I'm the owner of the souvenir shop next door. The owners of this place are on vacation."

"Vacation, huh?" Raozya lowered his guard and relaxed his fists. "No burritos, then." _And no pickles, either. I hate you, world._

Joas stopped in the middle of a psychic power-up, causing a sharp, jagged piece of metal to fall back to the ground right behind the man. _Drat. So close._

"Yes, and the other people who love the burritos are not very happy about it, either. If you're hungry, there are several restaurants not far from here on the outskirts of Camphrier Town."

Raozya nodded. "Yeah, I know the area. I'll probably hit up a barbecue place."

Joas sauntered over and stood next to Raozya, directing his disturbing gaze up at the old man in front of them. Whether by coincidence or not, the lights above flickered a little.

The man was visibly put off by this and bid them a hasty farewell, scurrying back into his shop and locking every bolt on the door.

Raozya became rather self-conscious seeing the man run away like that. Was it because of something he had said? "Huh, guess he doesn't like barbecue."

"The nausea that your voice induces probably reached a critical level. I can't blame him."

"Wait, what?"

Joas floated back into Raozya's backpack. "Be glad that he was courteous enough not to mess up your shirt. I just hope he can get the stains out of his carpet."

Raozya proudly planted his fists on his hips. "An ability that has been passed down the Raozya family line for generations. Now if I could just amplify this ability, I could run my mouth off at my gym opponents and mess up their concentration."

_He rolled with that punch better than I expected_. "Indeed. Let's go celebrate this monumental strategy with dinner."

"Sounds like a plan!"

• • •

The streets gradually increased in quality as the duo approached Camphrier Town, transitioning from dirty gravel to pavement. Boasting a population of twenty million, the megalopolis was certainly no bump on a country road. The night sky, normally aglitter with countless stars by this time in the evening anywhere else, was illuminated by the activity of the bustling city. Massive towers situated in the distant downtown districts loomed over the surrounding cityscape like obsidian giants keeping a watchful eye over their territory.

Raozya and Joas were not interested in going that far, just to the outskirts. There were plenty of eateries to choose from, as well as hotels to stay in once they had finished gorging themselves silly. Raozya wasn't rich, but he wasn't poor, either, so they had little to worry about in terms of finances.

It wasn't long before they were walking on a concrete sidewalk rather than grass, and shops became more frequent. A fair distance away, amongst dozens of bright and animated shop signs, Raozya noticed a barbecue place he had been to before. "Ha! There it is, Big Bruno's Steakhouse. Best barbecue I've ever had. The owner's nice, too."

Joas popped his head out of the backpack and looked around. "Does the flavor tease the tongue like a melodic symphony?"

"No, but it tastes spectacular." Raozya was well aware of the meaning of Joas' question, but he was feeling jovial.

Joas facepalmed. "That's what I...anyway, let's pick up the pace. I don't want any street thugs rushing us. Arceus forbid I have to sully the sidewalks with more chalk outlines." _Speed up, you plebeian! Hunger! Understand it! Sate it!_

"Good idea! The restaurant beckons!"

Raozya broke into a fevered sprint, dodging pedestrians and leaping over obstacles like a madman. Joas hastily zipped himself inside of the backpack to avoid being jettisoned by the chaos, only to be jumbled around with the other contents inside. It wouldn't have been so bad if the Domination hadn't been hitting his head every few moments.

It took them only a matter of seconds to reach the restaurant. Raozya panted and puffed while leaning on the front wall, at the same time wearing a big grin on his face. "How's that for quick?"

Joas uneasily unzipped the backpack and crawled out, flopping onto the sidewalk since he was unable to summon enough psychic power to glide due to the throbbing knots on his head. "Your potential as a rock tumbler has been noted. This meal had better be worth it."

"You won't be disappointed." Raozya let out a sigh and straightened up, popping his back. He plucked Joas from the ground and casually stuffed him into his backpack before strolling in through the front door.

The interior had a rustic design that would not have been out of place in a renaissance festival. Elaborate antler chandeliers with flame-shaped light bulbs hung from the rafters of the high ceiling, and the heads of several types of ungulate Pokemon were mounted on the walls.

Raozya was greeted by a ridiculously cheerful waitress and led to a table. He took a seat on the chair's soft leather cushion and ordered two glasses of lemonade, which piqued the waitress' curiosity until Joas suddenly appeared in the opposite chair. She nearly issued Joas a menu specifically designed for Pokemon—often consisting of pellets and other pet-themed food—but Joas' expression told her that there would be suffering on a scale never before witnessed if she was to deny him a meal fit for humans. This was confirmed by Raozya, so she handed human menus to both of them.

Raozya flipped a few pages and dropped his finger on his target menu item. "Tangy rib platter. The meat's tender and falls right off the bone, and there's a lot of it—moist and savory. I got that last time."

A trail of saliva started its way down Joas' face, but he vaporized it with a tiny psychic discharge. He couldn't have Raozya pointing it out and goading him. "Yes, I can see that my coat will have an exceptionally long-lasting gloss after this is over. This menu certainly has no deficit of entrees drowned in grease. I'll have to find a small platter lest I end up resembling that Exploud wannabe over there."

Raozya looked over his shoulder and spotted a rotund man with an apron laughing it up with a couple of people at a table, his booming voice carrying across the building. "Well, you _would_ become eligible for learning Rollout. That guy's the owner, by the way."

"Rollout is so painfully uncultured. I prefer to ignite my opponents' minds or plunge them into a realm of horror that would make Darkrai squee like a schoolgirl."

_Industrial-strength sleeping pills, please._ "Do we really have to discuss that at the dinner table?"

Joas turned another page. "What better way to make a lively conversation than to discuss one's adventures and accomplishments? Oooh, this dish looks positively succulent. Zesty lamb chops in balsamic vinegar."

The sound that emanated from Raozya's stomach could have been mistaken for explosive flatulence. He jolted as his human illusion face blushed crimson. "Seems like a good idea to me. I know what I'm getting."

Joas lowered his menu to lock eyes with his companion. "Good heavens, Raozya. Couldn't you hold it in? This is a public place, you know."

_Saw that coming._ "It's a signal that more and more things are becoming appetizing."

"I doubt you originally considered your pride to be on the menu."

Raozya glared. "A small bite is nothing."

"You're right. Pride of that size wouldn't even fill a Pidgey."

Joas' vacant stare wasn't helping the situation at all. Instead of throwing fuel on the fire, the defeated Raozya pulled his menu back up and browsed the dessert section. The more he thought about it, however, the more he felt inclined to smile. "That was actually kinda funny."

This surprised Joas; he was used to driving people to the point of cross-eyed rage with his belittling drollery—it was a quintessential aspect of his impish nature. He pulled his menu back up as well, pretending to be interested in it. "I'll be here all week."

The waitress returned with the lemonade and took their orders. Joas' talking initially startled her, but Raozya claimed to be a ventriloquist and used his natural illusory abilities to give the impression of him projecting speech from Joas' unmoving mouth.

A few minutes of relative silence passed before Bruno's booming voice was heard again, this time with a different customer. The customer was enjoying the attention and became almost as loud as Bruno, talking about his accomplishments as a Pokemon Trainer and Gym Leader.

This was all relevant to Raozya's interests, so he couldn't help but eavesdrop. The man rambled in length about how his accomplishments were as numerous as the stars in the sky; how none of the contenders he had encountered at his gym had ever defeated him; and how all the other Gym Leaders in the area practically worshiped the ground he walked on. His face had arrogance plastered all over it.

"He makes me want to inflict grievous physical harm upon him." Joas' eyes gave off a brief glow as he said this.

Raozya stared off into space as he indulged in a very satisfying fantasy of putting the man in his place. "I'm going to break his neck."

Joas peeked over his menu, his little heart having been filled with glee and intrigue. "I think somebody's growing a backbone."

"Fr-from, uh, how swift my defeat of him will be." Raozya had only realized how murderous his words had come across after Joas had commented on them. "He will be in tears, squirming in humiliation as he is forced to bestow a badge to the only guy to defeat him."

"Humiliation breeds character, and since he seems to be a textbook antagonist of only one dimension, you'll only be doing him a favor. It will most likely be a one-sided battle, however, if you do not train your horde properly."

"Horde?"

"Team, rather. If he's half as tough as he sounds, you will need much training."

Raozya turned his attention back to his menu again. He knew it was true that it would probably be a while before he could go against any major Gym Leaders, especially since he had just begun his journey. Patience and diligence were key to success. "Yeah, and I gotta read that Trainer's guide. I'll do that in the hotel room after dinner."

"Study well. Saturate your cerebral meats with knowledge. Memorize your enemies' weaknesses. It is the only way to succeed."

"And then the unrelenting conquest can begin."

• • •

After they had finished their delectable feast, the two departed from the restaurant and checked in to a nearby hotel. It wasn't anything fancy, but it did have an indoor pool, free breakfast, and free WiFi.

Raozya sipped on a chilled mocha that he had grabbed from the room's fridge. He no longer hid behind his human disguise; he was too tired to devote the mental resources for it, and the room provided ample privacy anyway.

He sat cross-legged on his bed as his eyes absorbed everything they saw in his Trainer's guide. At his side was his Pokedex, which was frequently consulted for additional information and occasionally a game of Angry Spearow.

Joas was snoozing away on a pillow atop the dresser—it was all he required, and a room with a single bed was cheaper in any case. This spurred Napalm to finally leave its Poke Ball; it now sat contentedly next to Raozya and watched him work. The latter made a mental note to clean up any obvious fur to avoid inciting the suspicion of the cleaning personnel, including his own fur.

4 a.m. came around before he knew it, so he set his studies aside and decided to watch some TV before going to bed. He pulled a pair of headphones from his backpack and plugged them into the TV for the sake of keeping the slumbering gray monstrosity firmly within dreamland.

The first channel featured a silly and hyper-violent cartoon that Raozya knew would wire his mind with energy and keep him from sleeping. He switched to the next one, hoping for something more interesting but not ridiculous.

It was news station that boldly displayed a video feed of a flaming building. His eyes widened as Murphy's Law worked its terrible magic: Memories of his time at the sporting goods store flooded back into the forefront of his mind, chilling his blood and making his hands shake. All the screaming people. All the chaos. The frantic call of the culprit Cyndaquil.

He nearly changed it to a different channel before recognizing the location name: Parfum Palace. Another video feed showed two kids fleeing the scene of the crime a few seconds before an explosion obliterated roughly half of the palace. A freeze-frame of the blast indicated two other people, clad in white Team Rocket uniforms, being launched into the sky fast enough that Raozya figured they had broken the sound barrier.

The day had officially ended right then and there. He switched off the TV and set the headphones onto the nightstand next to his bed. Napalm dematerialized and funneled back into its Poke Ball as Raozya popped a sleeping pill into his mouth and washed it down with the remainder of his mocha drink. He turned off the lamp and buried his head into the pillows, ready to cast the day into oblivion.


End file.
